


They Are A Pale Picture Of You

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, Love Confessions, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pining, Post-Canon, and a smidge of ableist language, and some fatphobia (internalized and otherwise), i love you all be safe, maybe? just a tiny bit? I don't know what counts as angst but i feel like there is a non-zero amount, shoot i forgot the pining! crowley is a conifer., warning for some f-bombs and some other words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: I crave an infinity of "Aziraphale’s body is perfect no matter what it looks like and Crowley loves him unconditionally" soft romantic asexual fics.  So I wrote one myself.  Or actually two, now.





	They Are A Pale Picture Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a companion piece to my first fic, "Something That Keeps You Here". Think of it as an alternate reality, still post-canon, this time from Crowley's perspective. Not betaed; spelling and grammar corrections are welcome! Those are the bits I'm good at already, so I like to have them polished. (I think I'm... not on the right side of Crowley's glasses here, if you get what I mean, not enough in his head for the internal narration to ring true. I accept this about this work.)
> 
> Like it says in the summary, I need more soft gentle fat acceptance up in here. And an eternal promise from me to you -- you aren't going to see any "aww, but you're not, y'know, *actually* fat!" type dialogue. My writing is an All Bodies Are Good Bodies zone. (Also: I'm writing solidly for the TV characterization -- if you can hear the dialogue in Tennant's and Sheen's voices, then I'm doing it right -- but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is actually shaped like how Tumblr user speremint draws him ([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186227834150/i-just-need-more-chonky-aziraphale-will)) ([3](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186401300745/only-one-1-person-asked-me-my-opinions-on-a-role) and [4](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my) from her Reversed Omens AU), just with an even rounder Sheen face on top. Because this is a thing which brings me joy.)
> 
> Please note that Crowley mentally calls Aziraphale "fat" here, but he does it in the same way that he might call him "blonde" or "bipedal". I understand if that's a no-go for anyone. Please keep yourself safe!
> 
> Only-vaguely-relevant title is from "The Angels" by Sparks, which has some lyrics so on the nose that... look, I'm not saying that back in the year 2000, Crowley hung out with Ron and Russell Mael and inspired a song to be secretly about a certain bookseller. But I'm not saying that's not what happened, either. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knSwrQUBqdk

Crowley was definitely going to tell the angel today. Right. Almost certainly.

It'd been months since they'd managed to snatch everything back from the brink of ending. No more Home Office breathing down their necks, either of them. Crowley'd even managed to find a couple of markers still barely worth calling in, and had confirmed what he already expected: the two of them were officially off-limits in Hell. He was willing to bet Heaven was running scared too.

Which meant no one watching them, not anymore. No having to keep up the running pattern of enough temptings or blessings, enough to stop anyone getting suspicious and taking a closer look.

No more skulking from one alternative rendezvous to another. They could just spend time together like normal adults. Six-thousand-year-old adults. Whatever.

And Crowley liked that, he _really_ liked that, and he knew Aziraphale liked it too, but he didn't know if Aziraphale knew how much Crowley liked it. Or why. Which was why he was going to just demon up and confess it, maybe.

He sprawled on the park bench, looking extremely cool and suave and not at all like someone who was screaming internally while waiting for the oblivious love of his life to show up.

"Really, must your posture be _quite_ so atrocious?"

Crowley congratulated himself on only jumping a little at the laughing voice behind him. "I'm stylish, angel," he drawled. "You've got to make some sacrifices for style."

He tilted his head back over his shoulder, aiming for a lazy grin instead of... whatever he could feel his face trying to do.

It was coming on winter now, and Aziraphale stood behind him in an outdated, stuffy overcoat instead of his usual outdated, stuffy jacket. A jaunty scarf peeped out from the collar, above which the angel's round face beamed indulgently at him. Snugged up in the coat, hands tucked away in pockets, he looked like a fat little bird, all puffed up against the cold. Whose nest was made out of books instead of twigs, and the carefully-protected eggs within the nest would presumably be... well... more books.

Okay. So the metaphor maybe wasn't such a great one. But the angel looked good. Really, really good. He always did, if you asked Crowley, but fortunately for his continued sense of inner equilibrium, no one had yet.

"Anyway!" Crowley declared, erupting from the bench in a storm of elbows and knees, sunglasses carefully pointed in a neutral direction. "Now that you're here — finally, I might add —"

Aziraphale uttered an indignant little sound.

"— then I can get off this _deathly cold_ bench and we can take our walk."

The angel fell into step beside him. "I do believe you could have arranged yourself some warmer clothing if you'd had a bit of foresight, my dear fellow."

"Like I said," Crowley shrugged elaborately, "style."

He checked on the angel out of the corner of one eye, and confirmed that the indulgent smile was still there. It was a good start so far. He just had to keep the mood going as he steered them along to his secret destination.

They ambled down the path (or Crowley ambled; Aziraphale probably wouldn't know an amble if it hit him in the golden-curled head), swapping banter back and forth, not actually saying much. It was good. It was comfortable, like they never really were before... before all that stuff that happened.

Crowley saw flames flicker up before his eyes for a moment, and he felt an utter lack where before there had always been a soft, cozy presence. But it was only for a moment. The flames never actually happened, or they did but then they _un_ happened, and that soft presence was currently about three inches to his right. And going on about tiramisu. Which always seemed like a waste of good rum to Crowley, but if it made the angel happy, then it was worth it.

If it made _his_ angel happy. But no — not yet.

The pathway wound around a duck pond whose ducks had all found other places to be for the season. Up ahead, the surrounding shrubbery crowded in a little closer, not so much that two people couldn't walk abreast; but Crowley still shivered, just a little, at the thought of those three inches between them shaved down to nothing. Shoulders brushing, arms touching. Maybe taking the angel's hand.

Only, no, he had to _say_ it, because _showing_ it didn't work. He'd tried too many times already. Crowley was rubbish with words, always had been, but the angel loved them, _lived_ in them, with his ridiculous firetrap —

— _no_ —

With his ridiculous _mess_ of a bookshop. Aziraphale understood words, and if that meant Crowley couldn't just use acts and gifts and tiny miraculous favors to communicate how absolutely and irrevocably in love he was with him, then fine. _Fine_. Because he was definitely a grown-up who could use his words, sure? Sure. And he could, with a skill borne of a thousand subtle temptings, lead them in a circuit around the park, coming out not near the cafe like they usually did, but instead near that new restaurant that neither of them had had a chance to try yet. It was a fondue place. Well-liked according to the online reviews, very cozy. And exceedingly romantic.

Crowley fully admitted that his words could use any available help.

There was a swat at his arm, light as a dream, and he focused again on the angel walking beside him. "You're not even listening, Crowley," Aziraphale said, eyebrows raised slightly and mouth forming the O sound of Crowley's name in a distracting pout.

"'M trying to tempt you into annoyance," he smirked, like his heart wasn't currently trying to slam his way out his chest. "Is it working? I can try harder."

"No, I'm really not sure you can," Aziraphale replied. Whether or not the words were supposed to be sharp, they were rendered to pretty much fluffy marshmallow by the twinkle in his eyes. The distracting lips shaped one of those smiles that Crowley would've called impish if it had been on anyone else's face.

"So you'd just finished repricing the bestiaries..."

"Oh! Yes, and then this _lovely_ young couple came in looking for directions..."

Crowley dipped back into the conversation like a duck which hasn't gone somewhere else to get out of the cold, and their slow pace brought them, finally, to the spot where the path narrowed. Spindly, mostly-dormant hedges lined both sides, in need of a good trimming and, frankly, a good talking-to, if anyone wanted them to stop slacking off in the leaf-having department. Winter was no excuse.

There was another figure coming toward them, some random human bundled up in his own coat, walking like he had somewhere to be about two minutes ago. Crowley and Aziraphale did have to crowd together on their side, just a little. Crowley paid very careful attention to the scrape of branches against one sleeve of his leather jacket, so that the brief soft pressure against his other shoulder wouldn't make him do anything embarrassing. He was cool. He was bloody cold, actually, but. Cool. Not concerned in the least.

They passed each other on the path, the stranger brushing by Aziraphale much more forcefully than Crowley liked. The stranger's mouth twisted like he'd tasted something awful, he snarled something at the angel which Crowley couldn't make out, and then he was gone.

Crowley untied both the guy's shoelaces, just on principle, because absolutely nobody treated the angel that way and got away with it. Then they reached a bend in the pathway, the hedges pulling back to give them more room, and Aziraphale put distance between them again.

"What a git," Crowley said lightly. He did not, in fact, feel light at all. Behind his sunglasses his eyes jittered back and forth between the angel, the ground, random trees.

Aziraphale had fallen silent, walking with a sort of hunched posture he hadn't had before. And the previous three inches between them was now at least six.

Crowley cursed each and every one of the millimeters which made up that new gap. The _nanometers_. He couldn't remember the names of any of the smaller ones, but if he did, he would make sure to curse them too.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley tried.

The angel flashed him a brief smile which touched nothing at all except his mouth. "I... yes, I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

He hadn't been saying, because the angel had been chattering and he, Crowley, had just been luxuriating in the flow of words, while also trying to figure out how to start the bit of the conversation that would end with "which is why I love you and always will no matter how many times we have to save this stupid world." But he picked an old memory to bring up, one of the many times they'd shared over the millennia, and Aziraphale chimed in willingly enough. His voice had lost some of its sparkle, though, and he seemed smaller somehow.

The fat little bird in its silly puffed-up winter coat was gone. Someone had dumped about a gallon of ice water on its head, leaving it a shrunken, bedraggled mess, and Crowley snuck a rock into the shoe of that guy back there on the assumption that it had probably been his fault somehow.

He ambled to a stop. "Aziraphale," he said into a lull in the conversation, and he turned to the angel, who looked up at him with darkened eyes. "What's wrong?"

"It's really nothing." Aziraphale's arms were crossed tightly across his chest, his stance still oddly hunched, drawn in. "Please, Crowley, don't concern yourself with me. I'm quite all right."

"This restaurant," Crowley blurted. He'd wanted to be more subtle, walking them all the way over there before proposing the idea as though it had just come to him. "The new one, by the theater. I thought we could try it. Have lunch." He pulled his hands from his pockets to spread in what he hoped was an enticing manner. "It's fondue. You haven't had fondue in ages, hey?"

The blue eyes flashed even darker for a moment. "Oh — why, that... that is awfully kind of you, but no. No thank you." And then, after a deep breath: "I'm not hungry."

Crowley stared at the angel, and he was pretty sure that he had at this point lost all hope of appearing casual and cool, but he didn't care. Every single alarm bell in his head was going off at once, and the chill he felt was maybe not just the impending frostbite from his still very stylish but not at all warm clothing. " _Not hungry?_ You never turn down a meal!"

What he meant was: _You approach every meal as a new chance for this world to delight you, to give you something to cherish and savor and share with me, even if you always wind up eating most of my share anyway._

What he meant was: _I love that about you, because I love_ you _, and if there's anything at all that makes you happy, then I want the world to be filled with it, so you never have to do without._

But, well. Rubbish with words.

Aziraphale did not look as though he had been struck, exactly, but the effect wasn't far off. His entire face fell. The bottom lip quivered, just briefly (Crowley resisted the urge to slip an entire rock garden into his own shoes); the trusting, gentle eyes filled up with tears.

"No," he said, and the wounded pride in his voice couldn't _possibly_ hurt any less than holy water would. "I suppose I don't."

Shit. Fuck. This had all gone off the rails so quickly, and Crowley cast his mind back to try to figure out what he'd done or said to start it off —

Behind dark glasses, his eyes narrowed.

The hedges. Some asshole coming the other way, acting like he was disgusted at the glorious chance he'd had to step so close to the angel... and he had muttered something as he passed.

Aziraphale had retreated into himself. Was now, Crowley realized, very clearly trying to take up as little space as he could.

Crowley's voice was very calm. "What did that guy back there say to you?"

"Nothing I haven't heard before, I assure you." Aziraphale looked up, away, a deeper flush coming into his cold-reddened cheeks. "From... oh, people, here and there. Even Gabriel, back during — well. Everything." He uttered a watery sigh which Crowley absolutely, one hundred percent would have faced Satan himself in order to erase. "Thank you for the invitation, and for the walk. But I should probably get back to the shop."

Crowley was using his words today, yes, absolutely doing that. He took a step closer to the angel, and he took off his sunglasses, folding them into a pocket. He took no other action than to stare directly into those unfairly blue eyes. "Angel. What. Did he say?"

Aziraphale ducked his head, but his answer floated up clearly enough. "He insulted my... weight."

It actually took Crowley a good few seconds to process this, turning it over in his mind, unable to get any kind of meaning out of it. Then it snapped into place. He reached down the string of his last few curses, zeroed in on their recipient with every ounce of his concentration, and put gaping holes in both the guy's shoes, along with a massive puddle on the path just in front of him.

That still didn't seem enough, so Crowley gave the bastard a toothache for good measure.

But that still left Aziraphale here, in front of him, with his head still lowered and a couple of extremely suspicious drops staining the sidewalk at his feet. The angel was crying, _his_ angel was crying, and instead of being warm together inside a very romantic restaurant they were now _here_ , and Crowley was much too cold and much too in love to let this go on any longer.

They had embraced in the past, when local greeting custom called for it. Those were friendly clasps about the shoulders. Not distant, but brief all the same. That wasn't what Crowley wanted now, though, and he didn't think it was what Aziraphale needed.

Aziraphale needed to know the truth.

Crowley could be fast when he wanted, maybe too fast, but damn and bless it, now he was committed. He slid his hands around the angel's chest, beneath his crossed arms, forcing them away. The motion earned him a startled look from Aziraphale, only glimpsed for a moment, although that was more than long enough to see the tears down his cheeks, and Crowley bit back a curse that would've seared the air around them.

His hands wrapped to the angel's back, splaying there as if trying for maximum contact against the ridiculous overcoat. He pulled him in, tight, tight. Until there was nothing between them. No distance at all.

"Crowley," the angel murmured against his shoulder.

He swallowed. "Look," he started, then faltered. Soft hands had come to rest on his upper arms, but they weren't pushing him away yet. The body against his seemed tense, but not resistant. He wished there weren't so many layers between them.

"Look. I wanted to — I mean, you —" _Words._ But he had to do it, had to get it right. Not leave any room for misunderstanding. "You're beautiful, okay?"

Aziraphale said his name again, but this time it sounded more like a warning. Crowley could feel him starting to pull away, and for just a moment he clung even harder to his angel —

_Not yet he isn't. Only just_ say _it —_

"I mean, I know you think you're soft." He closed his eyes briefly, because he couldn't handle too much visual stimulation, not with Aziraphale so close. "And you are, right, you're kind and — and _nice_ —" the word not coming out at all how it might have only a few months before — "and you give my plants way too much positive attention, angel, they are absolutely getting spoiled." He opened his eyes again, because this was getting closer to the important part.

Aziraphale was looking up at him, and there was a touch of the old indulgent look about his mouth, but that awful look of hurt hadn't entirely gone yet. "Which is a lovely enough sentiment, I suppose, but it doesn't change the fact that I am... not exactly the picture of a soldier of heaven." The angel's eyes shuttled up and down for just a moment, something opening in his face before slamming back down again so fast that Crowley couldn't identify it. "Current _or_ former." The mouth quirked down again. "I've always been a bit of a disappointment there."

Disappoi — oh, for anybody and _everybody's_ sake — 

"Which is the rest of it, right? You're soft and — and warm. And all the stuff that makes you _you_ , that those other assholes will never understand — your books and your tea and that little wiggle you do sometimes when you taste something good —" 

The angel went a bit pink at this, and Crowley forged past having to admit that yeah, he'd noticed that, of course he had. "Well. I mean. It's you. You don't look like a soldier because you aren't one. You look like —"

Like everything Crowley longed for in the world. Like a git in that antique coat. Like home.

"Just. Like comfort. And soft. And warm."

Crowley felt his teeth chattering. The "warm" part was looking especially good right now.

Aziraphale looked in every direction he could except at Crowley's face. "Ah. Yes. You really are making no sense, Crowley, and I think it's the cold gone to your brain." He slipped away then, breaking contact between them, and Crowley felt his heart punch directly through his feet before he realized that the angel was only unbuttoning his coat. Deft fingers working, Aziraphale continued, "I'll just lend you a _sensible_ outer garment for the rest of our walk, then, and hopefully once you warm up we can —"

Crowley was, of course, bipedal at the moment, but it wasn't like he didn't still remember how to snake. He waited carefully for his opening, as the angel finished undoing the buttons, as he shifted his arms back to let the coat slide off. And then Crowley struck.

His arms coiled around Aziraphale's waist, beneath the coat, beneath — and here was the liberty Crowley definitely-didn't-pray he was about to regret — beneath the jacket. The angel was warm, oh yes, deliciously so, like a thousand bubble baths after a thousand really miserable days. More than that, though, he was round and soft and perfectly Aziraphale-shaped.

Crowley decided that God had missed a trick when making the human form, because he needed more hands. Two needed to be pressed tight to Aziraphale's back, feeling the dips and curves of gently padded flesh beneath the shirt and waistcoat. The other two needed to be tilting his face back so that Crowley could start kissing it and possibly never stop.

The words Crowley needed to explain still weren't coming —

_"I love you"! Those are the words, you bloody idiot, just_ say them!

— and the angel was now looking decidedly alarmed. He didn't try to escape, but his body was tense and still.

"I." Crowley swallowed. "You love so much about this world, and I do too, and that's why we fought to keep it. And it's ours now."

Aziraphale's eyes widened slightly, and Crowley felt him shake, just for a moment.

"And you think _any_ of the others up there want this? Nah. Because they're _soldiers_ , but that's all they are. Bunch of steely-eyed stick-up-the-arse bastards who'll never understand any of this." Crowley forced himself to breathe. "And you're not one of theirs, angel, you're not. You're mine."

Everything stopped. Aziraphale stared at him with his eyes and mouth all gaping so wide that it would have been hilarious if Crowley had done it on purpose.

Crowley thought about trying again, but decided that was probably about as close as he was going to get. He settled for a gentle brush of fingers against Aziraphale's back. "And you're beautiful."

The angel's hands were on Crowley's arms again, still neither holding nor pushing away. One of them raised up now, tentatively. Soft fingers touched the skin beside Crowley's mouth, and he nearly staggered.

"Anyway," he muttered. "That's all."

The angel continued tracing his hand over Crowley's cheek, his jaw, his forehead. "Is this..." A pause. "Recent?"

"No."

Now Aziraphale returned his gaze, looking straight into his eyes, and his face and voice both shook as he asked, "You're in love with me?"

"I'm. Yup." Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. "And I'm not saying anything has to be different, an — Aziraphale, I'm just..."

The angel sighed. "Oh, Crowley."

Crowley felt — actually felt, it definitely wasn't just a metaphor, he was sure of it — his heart whimper in his chest, and curl over, and die.

But in the next instant, Aziraphale had both his hands on Crowley's face, fingers gentle in his hair. "Please look at me, Crowley," he said, and his voice was so full of something huge and trembling and unnameable that Crowley couldn't have refused if he had wanted to.

The angel smiled up at him, one of those brilliant joyous things that wrinkled his eyes and drew his cheeks up even rounder than they usually were. Crowley had spent decades, sometimes, waiting to see one of those smiles, and they'd always hit him like a freight train, even before rail had been invented. Any time he got to see it, it meant that despite everything, despite Falling and then falling and then all the years and centuries and millennia spent mostly alone, in that one brief moment he had _everything_. Because his angel was happy.

His angel was _happy_.

Crowley's heart died again, although this time he thought it was spontaneous combustion.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale said, breathlessly, still beaming harder than Crowley could remember ever seeing before. His hands lit over every inch of Crowley's face, like the angel was learning it all over again, committing it to memory in a way he'd never been able to before. "Oh, my dearest. My dear boy."

One thumb brushed Crowley's lips, and Crowley didn't hesitate. He pulled an arm back from around his angel's waist, and he took his angel's hand, and he pressed a quiet kiss to the palm.

"Oh, my love." Aziraphale's voice was hoarse. "I'd thought for years it was just me. Of course, I hoped, but..." He turned his hand in Crowley's grasp, lacing their fingers together, while his free hand found its way around Crowley's shoulder. The smile dimmed. "I'm not like you, Crowley. I'm not... built for speed." A pause, and then lower, as if ashamed: "Really, I'm just a... a soft, fat old fool."

Today might've been a day for words, but Crowley was still more comfortable with actions. So he wouldn't say _yes, you're soft and you're silly, but that's what makes you strong, too, and I'd never trade it for anything_. He also wouldn't say _this is the body of the ethereal entity I love, and no matter what it looks like, as long as it's still you inside, then it will be perfect_. Too much to say in words. He'd probably just botch it all up again.

He dropped Aziraphale's hand so he could work his fingers into the golden curls at the nape of the neck. "Yeah, but you're mine," he breathed, leaning closer. That distracting mouth just inches away. "Please be mine."

The angel's lips were softer than Crowley had ever dreamed.

Some demons got way into the lust side of their temptations, but it had never been Crowley's thing. He didn't have the means or the motive to get all the way down, and even more tame seductions just left him uncomfortable. So he'd kissed a few times here and there, back in his early days, but just as a means to an end.

Kissing his angel was not a means to an end. Kissing his beautiful, plump, perfect angel was very fucking much the end, the point, _the purpose of his entire existence_ , thank _you_.

He brushed his lips against the angel's tenderly, and the mouth below him opened, just a little, enough to emit a quiet gasp. Crowley shivered, not from cold now but from the realization that this was _real_ , he was _here_ , and his angel was here too and he was warm and yielding beneath Crowley's hands, beneath his lips, still placing gentle, reverent touches against a mouth now beginning to respond.

This was how Crowley knew how to say what he felt. Action. He wrapped both of his arms around Aziraphale's waist again, and the angel crept trembling hands up into his hair. They pressed together inside Aziraphale's coat like he could pull the angel right inside his chest, keep him there forever. And still Crowley kissed him: slow, lingering touches, taken and cherished and given right back again.

He forced himself to stop eventually. Even if Aziraphale broke off with one last gentle kiss, sweeter in that moment than any which had come before, which almost drove Crowley to start all over again. But the whole not-needing-to-come-up-for-air thing was going to attract attention sooner or later. And he could _do_ this later. Again. If he wanted to.

He assumed.

"So, uh," he said, trying for cool, probably failing. "Does this mean that you... you know, hypothetically..."

Aziraphale nestled against his chest, white-gold curls tickling his chin, and Crowley's throat closed with a click.

"Yes," the angel whispered into Crowley's shoulder. "Yes."

Crowley's knees didn't buckle only because he refused to spill his angel onto the ground. "Okay." A deep breath, and a tighter squeeze of his arms. "Good." 

Aziraphale made a little hum of agreement in the back of his throat.

"And —" Crowley raised an eyebrow, trying to put some edge back into his own voice, even though it was all gone mush by this point. "And the next time someone gives you any shit, you tell me and I make them _extremely_ regretful of their life choices."

"Oh. That sounds positively wrathful of you."

"Lots of wrath, yeah. I'm a wrathy guy when it matters."

Another angelic little hum, vibrating against Crowley's chest in a way he hadn't even known to _try_ to dream about.

" _And_ ," he continued, "if — _if_ you want to, now we go try that fondue place."

Aziraphale drew back just enough to look at him again, and the dazed smile on his face was worth giving up that small bit of contact. "Really, my dear? That's your idea of a temptation?"

"Just an offer, angel. It's whatever you want."

"Hmm." Then Aziraphale turned his face away, glancing back at him sidelong. The prudish tone of his voice was completely undermined by the fact that he still couldn't stop smiling. "That's a very... _romantic_ location, isn't it? I do believe I heard that somewhere. Rather a suspicious coincidence, don't you think?"

Crowley stumbled through a few wordlike syllables.

"Wily old serpent," the angel murmured, and kissed him on the cheek. "Consider me tempted."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you needed some absolute sweet fluffy indulgence, then I hope this did the trick. And I hope you have a lovely day of being an important and inherently worthy human in whatever body you happen to be toolin' around in.
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too (and I will probably actually reply). It's mostly just reblogs of Good Omens things that I want to keep around, but there's [original GO-related content](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-original-post) here and there (some of which is about WIPs!).
> 
> Also, for the record, it is my _dream_ that someday some artist likes one of my fics enough to draw something from it, so if you want to do that then I will absolutely kermitflail from happiness. I have only one request: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than speremint does (here's those reference links again: ([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186227834150/i-just-need-more-chonky-aziraphale-will)) ([3](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186401300745/only-one-1-person-asked-me-my-opinions-on-a-role) and [4](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my) from her Reversed Omens AU)). Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!


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